The questions hang between us, loaded with all the fears she’s not voicing. I’m sure she’s afraid I’ll demand her body as payment for Sophia’s debt. That I’ll force her. It’s written in the way she holds herself, in the distance she’s careful to maintain.
Forcing people isn’t the only way to get what you want. And victory tastes so much sweeter when people submit on their own.
“Now, you’re mine. I always collect what I’m owed, one way or another.” I let the statement sit, watching as understanding dawns in her eyes. “You’re not a guest here, Alina. You’re my payment for Sophia’s debt.”
She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “What will happen to the bakery?” she asks after a moment. “Who will run it with me gone?”
The question surprises me. After everything that’s happened, her concern is for the business? I expected tears, pleas, maybe even another attempt at fighting back. Not this practical worry about bread and pastries.
“That’s not my problem,” I lie.
It’s very much my fucking problem. Why? Because Remus will make it so. And, if I’m honest, he’d be right to. The bakery ismore than a fixture in Little Italy. It’s a potential income that’s now half mine.
I turn toward the door, satisfied that she understands her position. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll establish the rules.”
“Raffaele.” My name on her lips stops me at the threshold. It’s the first time she’s used it, and there’s something about her soft pronunciation that makes my skin tighten.
When I turn back, she’s standing, her chin lifted slightly despite the fear still evident in her eyes. “Thank you for letting me bring Onyx.”
I nod once, uncomfortable with her gratitude. Then I step into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind me.
As I walk away, the image of her standing there—small and defiant despite everything—stays with me. Most people I collect break immediately, begging and bargaining before I’ve even outlined their options. But Alina Brewer thanked me for a small kindness instead.
Interesting. Very interesting indeed.
Chapter 8
Raffaele
Ifind Susan, my housekeeper, in the kitchen where she’s busy organizing something I don’t care about. She’s been with me for years, and she’s one of the few people I trust completely. She looks up as I enter, her experienced eyes missing nothing.
“Good evening, Mr. Russo,” she says, her hands never pausing in their work. “If you’re here to check on dinner—”
“I’m not,” I interrupt as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “And it’s Rafe. Or Raffaele.” I don’t know why I keep reminding her. She’s old enough to be stuck in her ways and not going to change when I remind her for the millionth time.
Susan huffs. “If you’d let me finish,Mr. Russo,you would have heard me tell you it’ll be ready in an hour.” Her stern expressionturns smug. She always loves it when she has the upper hand. “I figured you’d want to eat late tonight.”
The smell of rosemary and garlic filling the air promises a delicious meal I don’t want to rush. “That’s fine,” I grunt, loosening my tie slightly.
“Anything else?” she asks, her tone making it clear she isn’t happy about being interrupted.
Smirking, I lean against the island. “I need food sent up to the guest room.”
“Tells me to clean the guest room and put fresh linen on the bed, but thinks I’m too old to realize it means he has company and that company likes to eat,” Susan mumbles. She has a talent for doing it so low she can pretend I wasn’t meant to hear, yet loud enough there’s no way I’d miss it.
This woman is fucking amazing. No wonder she used to be friends with my mom before my parents retired to Rome.
Ignoring her ramble, I continue, “And she’ll need food and water bowls for her cat. I don’t want the thing yowling all night.”
Susan’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “Did you just say cat?” she questions, sounding so incredulous I can’t help smiling.
“I did,” I confirm, amusement coating my words. “And a litter tray.”
Huffing, Susan starts rummaging in the cupboard under the sink. She looks downright triumphant when she fishes out a blue plastic washing-up bowl.
“I’ll line this with some… paper, I guess. It should do until I can go shopping tomorrow.” She moves around the kitchen while talking.
Nodding, I pull out my wallet and retrieve my black credit card, immediately placing it on the counter. “Get her some clothes and whatever she needs as well.”
